


Hello, my love.

by catbug45



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arya doesn't go travelling because she knows that she can be free with Gendry, F/M, Kinda fluffy because she's thinking about loving him, Light Angst, One Shot, post-season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 10:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18990829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catbug45/pseuds/catbug45
Summary: A little fix-it. Arya contemplates life and choices as she walks along the path to the cliffs of Storm's End, where a certain Storm Lord has been waiting for her return. Inspired by my own little headcanon from Tumblr.





	Hello, my love.

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine Storm's End as looking like Dunnottar Castle, on the east coast of Scotland. If you want a visual, just look that up, it really is beautiful there, and the weather is changeable like Storm's End.

Atop the cliffs of Storm’s End, a lone figure stood. Even from such a distance, he looked imposing, ever the Bull, but a suitable man to hold command over such a harsh and formidable place such as the Stormlands. The path to the castle was pebbled and riddled with potholes, and various flowers of the hard kind, ones that favoured cliff edges, and wind and the salt air. Yellow dandelion next to the dusky black pebbles, the colours of his new house, she thought. How fitting. 

Arya couldn’t deny she was nervous, she had rejected this man and all he had offered her. She was not ashamed though, she knew it had been the right decision, just as choosing to love him on that last night on earth had been right too. She had told him he would find another pretty lady, someone who would give him what he needed and keep check of his household, a proper Lady befitting of a proper Lord. She hoped he had not taken notice of her advice, it had been so long after all since that night when he offered her his heart. He was a great lord now; every noblewoman would be vying for his attention. He was handsome too, that was undeniable, he could have his pick of women now that he ruled the Stormlands, and she was sure none would be unwilling. 

She loved him though, she loved him fiercely. That was more than any other lady could say. But could she have put freedom and autonomy beneath love? Not then, not at that moment. But she was a fool, he had never wanted to take away her liberty. If anything, Gendry might have provided a place she could truly be free, truly be herself. He would not force her to stay indoors, or take away her knives and swords, and he would not remind her of death, because being with him made her feel alive. 

She dearly loved the North and its people, she loved Sansa, and Jon, and Bran. But memories lingered, of the library and the undead hunting her through the halls she so loved. Memories of the knife falling from her hand, to plunge from the other into the frozen flesh of the Night King. She could be free of them here, she could see her family, visit her Northern country but be free with Gendry in this castle, or wherever he may see fit to put her. After all, she did turn him down. A new beginning for her, a peaceful beginning.  
She had been blind to think that Gendry would want her to be the perfect lady of the house, like the ones from the songs. It was not her to wear dresses and sew or sit pleasantly while the Lords talked of Lordly things. She could be with Gendry, be a Lady, and not do any of those things if she so pleased with her blacksmith boy. He would require nothing of her, she took the long road, but she understood him now. No featherbed for me, for us, she thought. But a forest love, and a cliff’s edge and the damp grass beneath her. That is all she needed. That is all she wanted, and all he wanted. She saw that now. How things change, she thought, as she climbed the wet stone steps from the courtyard to the cliff top, smoothed by the grinding sea salt and the feet of Baratheons past. 

Sandor had saved her from death, he knew the cost of revenge was to die in that southern city and be entombed amongst its rubble. He was right for her to leave her vengeance behind. She had killed death itself, did this not warrant her right to live? 

Gendry had sat down amongst the heather; he was gripping at the blooms tightly, deep in thought. Arya could see him more closely now, but he had still not seen her. The distance closed between them, would he greet her? Would he walk away from her? Or would he push her off the jagged cliffs in a fury… _Ours is the Fury_ , is it not? No. Gendry might be a bull-headed man; quick to a temper, and he could make steel sing, but he was never anything but sweet to her. So gentle and kind, she was reminded of that night before the end, and he would never hurt her. He had protected her on the Kingsroad all those years ago and kept her secrets. Arya cursed herself for even imagining it. She came to a pause, she could turn back now. She could travel west as she had planned, but no one had ever returned from the foreign soil that lay beyond Westeros, and Arya did not want to just become a faint memory to those who had loved her. She would carry on. She could go quietly, and sneak up on him, her skills from Braavos still in good shape but why hide behind those masks to face the one who can see through it all, and so Arya pushed a stray strand of her brown locks behind her ear, loosened by the blowing wind, and moved forward towards the Lord atop the cliffs. 

When she was but ten yards from him, she knew he must have heard her. Arya had almost dragged her feet, she wanted to call out to him, shout his name against the wind. But she did not, yet all the same, she saw his head jerk slightly as she approached; hearing her footsteps, the scratch of the heather against her boots. Gendry turned his head faintly so much so that she saw the glint of the sun reflected in his eye. He had seen her now, yet he turned back toward to sea and said nothing. She came closer but felt her earlier fears were correct. He would get up and walk away, he did not want her here anymore.

She felt too exposed, too overwhelmed now by the crashing of the waves against the rocks below.  
“I should not have come, I should not have come,” she chastised herself, “I’m sorry.”  
She spun away and moved to go back along the path beyond the castle, but before she could go much further his voice called out to her,  
“Arya!”,  
she swung back around to look at him, startled.

He was still sat facing away from her, but she saw the shaking of his head and a deep chuckle vibrated from his chest as he rose to his feet. Gendry turned slowly, and she saw the shimmering tears in his eyes, and a beaming smile grew upon his face. He opened his mouth to speak and raised his hand out towards her, like he was calling out for her to clasp at it, only a short whisper came from him,  
“Hello.”  
She rubbed at her eyes, tears flowing freely from them too now,  
“Hello, my love,” she whispered back.


End file.
